Don't Eat The Red Spores!
by augest
Summary: Mordekai, swordsman and the glue that keeps his party together and from killing each other has his hands full when Poet the grouchy thief eats some red spores while food hunting. Mild slash MXM , NOW WITH MORE PLOT! Less fluffy.
1. Chapter 1: Worst Picnic EVER

AN: Hello! This is the first installment of a collabfic by Shingle Golem and myself! It featuers our sprites on Ragnarok Online, as well as the sprites of a few other firends. Milydly slashy thus far, so be warned. Mostly innocent fluff.

* * *

It was a warm, bright day. Birds sang, leaves rustled, and gleaming sunlight shone through the branches overhead as the Deadly Smile Assassination Squad travelled through the forest to Prontera.

Mordekai, the Squad's Swordman, tilted his head back and let the sun fall on his face. Having grown up in a nomadic society, he relished the opportunity to enjoy nature on a calm day. Glancing to his left side, he saw that Poet, the Thief, appeared brooding and ill-tempered as usual. Although he felt bad for his comrade's numerous troubles, Mordekai didn't understand how anyone could be so angry all the time. Life could be hard, but dwelling on the hard parts only made them all the harder. It was best to move on.

Looking back to his right, the warrior observed that Kalmia was cheery and oblivious, as always. The attractive young Acolyte was almost skipping along, humming to herself and not paying attention to anything at all. It was a wonder she hadn't tripped and hurt herself yet. Mordekai made a mental note to gently chastise her for neglecting to be aware of her surroundings - he found her innocence charming, but he knew she could be a liability to her friends if they were to be ambushed.

Behind the three walked Sandle. He was basically an honorary member of the Squad, as his combative skills mainly revolved around smiting things to death with the largest hammer he could possibly lift. Nevertheless, he was indispensable - as their black market contact, he disposed of any items they happened to obtain and gave them a generous share of the profits. He was engaged in his usual pastime of tallying up his current funds, merchandise, potential price ranges, and profit division - all the pursuits that came with being a successful Merchant. Behind him clattered a small cart full of miscellaneous valuables - rare weapons, jewellery, and even a couple of monster eggs.

Mordekai frowned inwardly. Sandle was perhaps the only member of the Squad that he didn't trust. The Merchant travelled with them because it was in his best interests to do so, not because of any sort of loyalty or higher purpose. Still, the fighter supposed that Sandle would be no cause for worry, as long as he was kept happy with a steady supply of "found" goods.

Turning his attention back to the forest, the Swordman noted that the group had reached an open glade. He instinctively scanned the area looking for concealed threats, then forced himself to relax - they were on a well-travelled road, so it was unlikely that any monsters would take up residence nearby without being quickly driven out. Still, it was best to be cautious.

Kalmia broke the relative silence. "I'm hungry!" she complained, furrowing her brows and placing a hand on her stomach. "We haven't eaten since breakfast!"

Mordekai sighed. "It's barely time for lunch," he reminded her.

"So? This is a good place! It's nice and warm. We can have a picnic!" The Acolyte smiled happily.

"Well, we should probably-" Mordekai stopped as Kalmia completely ignored him and started to walk into the glade. He sighed again. "I'll unpack the food."

Sandle plunked down beside Kalmia and started talking about the business potential of healing magic, while Poet slunk over to a stone in the ground and sat down, saying nothing. Mordekai found that it made him strangely upset when the Thief was in one of his quiet moods. After puzzling over that for a bit, he chalked it up to paranoia and forgot about it... truth be told, his stomach was rumbling, and he didn't like to think on an empty stomach.

The Swordman slung his backpack down and opened it, and was astounded to find it empty save for what appeared to be the shed carapace of a Thief Bug. Swearing, he looked around, but saw nothing. The food had probably been stolen by the crafty insects sometime earlier in the day.

The Squad looked at him expectantly. He shuffled his feet and coughed. "Uh, I think our food's been stolen by Thief Bugs."

Sandle just frowned - he seemed to view everything, from insults to impending death, as little more than a slight setback. Kalmia, on the other hand, was apparently devastated that her picnic had been ruined - her face collapsed into an expression of tragic loss. Poet reacted with a scowl and a glare, further upsetting Kalmia and irritating Mordekai.

"Relax, Poet," said the Swordman, attempting to avert any potential conflict - such squabbles usually ended up with Kalmia in tears and Poet even more angry and sullen than usual. "We'll just gather some food from the forest. You and I can hunt for Lunatics, and Kalmia and Sandle can find some edible plants."

Poet just looked at him. "Fine."

Mordekai was struck with the weird realization that "fine" was the first thing the Thief had said to him all day. He pushed away the odd unhappiness that caused him and turned towards the woods. "Come on. This shouldn't take more than half an hour."

Kalmia jumped up, her misfortune at her picnic-less fate apparently forgotten in the excitement of having something to do. "We can pick red mushrooms! There are some good ones around here!"

Sandle pushed himself to his feet. "I know a few herbs that are good for eating, and we might be able to find an apple tree somewhere."

Mordekai allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Kalmia was not crying, and Poet was not on the verge of gutting Kalmia. He considered this a minor victory. All that was left was to get some food.

Poet watched impatiently as Mordekai crept through the forest, careful not to make a sound. They had been searching for twenty minutes and there wasn't a single Lunatic in sight - unusually bad luck for this particular area.

"Why don't we just give up?" grouched the Thief. "We can go eat roots and berries and dirt like those other two damn hippies."

The cynical comment surprised Mordekai into laughing. Somehow the idea of Kalmia and Sandle smoking various herbs and sitting around a campfire was quite funny.

Poet just shot the fighter a sour look, apparently not finding his present plight humourous. "I'm hungry, damn it." The Thief made another quick scan of the area, and although he didn't see any Lunatics, he did see something that appealed to his stomach. "Hey, look what I found."

Taking a few steps, he reached down to the base of a tree and plucked a few red mushrooms from the ground. "You suckers can keep playing at being Hunters - I found my lunch."

Mordekai reached out with one hand. "Uh, don't eat those."

Poet just smirked at him. "Why? Are you hungry too? Well, too bad. I found them, and I'm going to eat them." He raised a mushroom to his lips and took a big bite out of it.

The Swordman raised his hands to his temples in disbelief. "You're supposed to cook those before you eat them!"

"So? It's not like they're poisonous."

"They make you hallucinate." Mordekai frowned at his foolish companion.

"Sounds like bull to me," replied Poet amiably. "You're going to have to do better than that. You know, these are actually pretty good." He took another bite.

The warrior shook his head, grimacing. "All right, find out the hard way. Come on, we're not going to have any luck hunting."

A few minutes later, the whole group was back at the clearing. Sandle and Kalmia had gathered a fair quantity of various mushrooms, herbs, vegetables, and tubers, and were boiling a pot of water to make vegetable stew. Mordekai glanced behind him and noted, with some concern, that Poet was visibly starting to feel the effects of the red mushrooms he had eaten.

"Uhh," announced the Thief, his face pale. "Am I supposed to feel like I'm flying."

It took the rest of the group a moment to realize that he had intended that as a question. Sandle looked at the pale pilferer with interest. "He ate the mushrooms, didn't he?"

Mordekai nodded gloomily.

"Don't worry! I studied this in the convent! I can make a remedy that will help him recover faster!" Kalmia jumped to her feet and ran into the forest to look for herbs.

"Hmm. She's pretty clueless. I think I should go keep an eye on her." Sandle stood up and followed the Acolyte.

In the meantime, Poet's knees began to buckle and a flush started to creep into his face. Alarmed, Mordekai caught hold of him and sat him down on a stone.

"Your hair is pretty," mumbled the Thief. "It's all long and shiny."

Mordekai felt his face turn red. "Uh... I think you should take a nap or something."

Poet ignored him and reached out to stroke his hair, eyes wide with drug-induced fascination. Mordekai's face reddened further as a not-entirely-unpleasant chill travelled down his spine.

"Listen," he said unconvincingly, "you're not really doing this. Well, you are doing this, but... uh... the mushrooms..."

Poet lost interest in Mordekai's hair, and started to touch his face instead. The Swordman gasped involuntarily as he felt goosebumps raising all over his body.

_Why the hell am I reacting like this?_ he thought.

He raised his hands to try and push Poet away, but the Thief suddenly noticed his hair again and started to stroke it. Delicious chills ran through Mordekai, and before he realized it, he felt himself starting to relax. _It'll keep him busy so he doesn't get into trouble,_ he told himself.

Poet leaned in close and started to rub his face against Mordekai's cheek. This was too much for the warrior, and he let his eyes slip closed and his mouth slip open. His breathing quickened and his heartbeat began to speed up.

It was at that exact moment that Kalmia and Sandle returned to the glade.

As they walked in to see Poet, whose face was flushed, practically cuddling Mordekai, who was visibly enjoying the attention, they both displayed standards of human behaviour that many psychologists consider very interesting. Kalmia went through a process that doctors would diagnose as "denial," her face registering blank, idiotic shock as her brain refused to process the sight before her.

Sandle, on the other hand, exhibited a much more calculated reaction. He opened his pack and reached for a camera he'd picked up in Morroc, intending to carry out a process known as "blackmail."

Mordekai opened his eyes and froze.

Poet was oblivious to all of this. He was fixated on the Swordman's face. Opening his mouth, the Thief stuck out his tongue and licked Mordekai's cheek, causing the unlucky warrior to gasp involuntarily. "Your skin tastes like sunshine," he mumbled dreamily.

Sandle raised the camera to his eye and grinned. "Say cheese!"

* * *

The next morning, Poet woke up with a splitting headache and perfect memory of the previous night's events. Kalmia had forgotten it completely and was her usual vacuous, cheerful self, Sandle was flipping through photographs and humming the tune to "Moneytalks," and Mordekai looked _very_ uncomfortable.

"We will never speak of this," announced Poet, "ever."

"Agreed," replied Mordekai immediately.

"I will never mention it again," promised Sandle. "Now how much will you pay me for possession of these pictures?"

Poet glared at Mordekai, who sighed and reached for his coin purse.

"Speak of what?" asked Kalmia. "What pictures? What's going on?"

"Poet turned his glare on her. "The worst picnic EVER."

The Acolyte jumped to her feet gleefully. "Picnic? I love picnics! I'll go pick some mushrooms!"

Mordekai swallowed uneasily as he looked over at Poet. It was going to be a long hike to Prontera.


	2. Chapter 2: A Miserable Walk

"Sandle, if I hear you counting those coins _one more time_, I am going to _gut_ you," hissed Poet.

Mordekai sighed and rubbed his temples. Poet had been extremely irritable and unfriendly towards the rest of the group for almost three days, and although the Thief was almost always dampening everyone's spirits with his cynicism, his hostility was becoming almost unbearable. "Look, Poet, we're almost at Prontera. Just let Sandle wallow in his greed until we get there."

Sandle smirked at Poet. "Yeah. Let me wallow in my greed." The merchant jingled his coin purse and hummed a merry tune, a bounce in his step despite the heavy cart he was pulling. This drew a wince from Mordekai, who knew that most of the money in that purse had until recently belonged to him and Poet.

The Thief scowled, rounding on Mordekai. "I am going to stab all of you," he declared.

Kalmia gasped, wrapping her arms protectively around herself. "Just because Sandle took all your money doesn't mean you should stab me!" The pink-haired Acolyte gave Poet a look that might have looked stern coming from an older or more intimidating woman, but on her it just seemed kind of annoyed. "Violence never solves anything."

Sandle chimed in again. "It solved the hell out of that Kobold ambush that one time."

"Youre just happy because you got to see Mordekai cut a monster's head off," retorted the Acolyte.

"Yeah. That was awesome." Sandle plunked down his cart and mimed swinging a huge sword with both hands, grinning like a child.

Mordekai ran his hands through his hair in exasperation, causing his jet-black locks to flutter madly in the breeze. Though he was technically just the Swordman of the party, he often felt compelled to act as guide, nanny, conscience, and voice of reason. This was primarily because Kalmia seemed as innocent as a child, while Sandle cared only for money and Poet appeared to care for absolutely nothing.

Poet pointed at Sandle, his eyes narrowing. "You blackmailed me. I'm going to have my revenge."

Feeling his frustration threaten to swallow up his better judgement, Mordekai cut in. "Look, Poet, I'm sure you're going to kill us all in many exotic ways, but right now I just want to make sure you're going to do it after we get to Prontera. Until then, please stop with the death threats. And Sandle, please, _please_ stop provoking him."

Sandle just made a face. "Not my fault he ate some bad mushrooms and then declared his love for you."

The Swordman felt his face grow hot. Poet hadn't declared his love for anyone, but he _had_ eaten some raw mushrooms and then licked Mordekai's face while Sandle took blackmail photos.

"Oh, that's _it._" Poet drew back his fist and let fly.

Quick as a flash, Sandle ducked aside and kicked out the Thief's ankle, sending him to the ground with a thud. "You'll have to do better than that. I've dealt with a lot of crooked people."

"ENOUGH!" bellowed Mordekai, his anger suddenly flaring. In the instant of silence that followed, he felt a pang of remorse at the shocked expression Kalmia directed at him. "I am only going to say this once more. We are almost at Prontera. When we get there, you two can kill each other. Until then, _be quiet or I will knock you out._"

The Swordman's guilt amplified when he saw the disbelief in the faces of his comrades. He had always been respectful, patient, and rational with them, and to hear such anger from him had clearly startled them. Even Poet, normally surly and always ready to trade barbs, just sat on the ground and stared.

Mordekai hesitated. "I... look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped like that. I apologize."

Sandle took hold of his cart and kept trundling down the road. Kalmia resumed strolling along, although with a troubled expression darkening her innocent features. Poet got to his feet and said nothing, simply walking ahead and ignoring everyone else.

For a moment the Swordman felt relieved. Then it occurred to him that, having seen his strength and aggression in combat, his companions were most likely frightened by his anger. The realization made the kind-hearted warrior feel absolutely terrible.

Although the journey to Prontera didn't take very long after that point, to Mordekai, the silence seemed even more interminable than the constant bickering. He was used to hearing pointless infighting, but this was the first time he had intimidated his companions into silence, and it was an awful feeling.

"We're here," said Sandle. It was a redundant statement, since the group was standing immediately in front of the city gates, but it served to break the silence.

"Finally," growled Poet, peering up at the huge, solid-stone wall that surrounded the city. "Now I can spend what little money I have left on a stiff drink and a warm bed. I'll be at the inn."

Sandle opened his mouth to make a snide comment, but his gaze slid over to Mordekai, and he said nothing. This somehow made the Swordman feel even more upset than his mockery would have.

The worst rebuke for his indiscretion, however, came from Kalmia. She walked resolutely past Mordekai, her arms folded, before hesitating at the gate. Spinning to face him, the Acolyte blurted, "I thought you were supposed to be the _patient_ one!"

Then, seeing the warrior's stricken expression, she clapped her hands over her mouth and burst into tears.

Poet shook his head in amazement. "To hell with this noise. I'm gone." And, true to his word, he slipped off into the city.

Sandle glanced uncomfortably at Kalmia. "Well, I should see if I can find a buyer for that Smokie egg." With a quick wave and the creaking of cart wheels, he, too, disappeared into the gate, leaving Mordekai with Kalmia.

The Swordman fidgeted for a moment, then sighed and reached out for his friend. He hugged Kalmia as she bawled, quietly telling her that he was sorry he had yelled, and gently reassured her until she had calmed somewhat. Then, when the Acolyte wiped her eyes and left for the inn, Mordekai simply stood and silently cursed in frustration - both because he had caused so much trouble, and because he, unlike Kalmia, could not simply burst into tears and then feel better after a little while.

* * *

AN: Don't worry! This story is NOT dead, and more is soon to follow. Apologies on such a short chapter this time around--I just moved and I've been busy. insert more lame excuses here Anyhoo, R&R if you please )  



	3. Chapter 3: Stepping on Toes

Poet scowled as he walked along the narrow, shadowy back streets of Prontera. Sandle's stupidity had given him a huge headache, and that idiot Acolyte's bawling had only made it worse. It was like traveling with children sometimes, and he was rapidly running out of what little patience he had. What was the point of forming a mercenary squad if you couldn't hire anyone worth his weight in a fight?

The Thief frowned to himself, his bad mood worsening. The only other Deadly Smile capable of wreaking death like a proper Assassin was Mordekai, but he had that moronic knight-in-shining-armour complex going on. Poet couldn't understand why someone with so much strength would intentionally choose to limit himself, especially when he essentially served as a murderer for hire. A bruiser like that could rise to power very quickly in the criminal underworld, if he played his cards right and chose his allies carefully.

He paused as he saw a shady-looking figure eyeing him from a small side alley. After shooting the stranger a venomous, menacing glare, the Thief moved on without concern; he knew from his own experience that cutpurses and muggers preferred to look for easy targets, and a self-reliant adventurer with a big knife and a mean look wasn't worth tangling with – the risk far outweighed the reward.

Before long, Poet had reached his destination: a run-down, seemingly unremarkable curio shop next door to a foul-smelling tannery. He wrinkled his nose at the omnipresent stench as he pushed open the shop's door, triggering a brief cacophony of jingling bells and clattering chimes. He winced as the irritating sound caused his head to throb painfully.

After waiting for his eyes to adjust to the building's dim interior, the Thief looked around to make sure there were no other customers. His eyes slid over the dusty shelves and the exotic items arranged haphazardly upon them, indifferent to the mad plethora of archaeological artifacts and alchemical extracts – he was here to arrange some business, not to shop for useless trinkets. Ducking down to avoid bumping into an Orc skull hanging from the rafters, he made his way to the counter and saw, to his frustration, that the proprietor's son, Richard, was watching the store.

"G'afternoon, Poet," said the youth cheerily, scratching at his unruly brown hair. "I guess yer lookin' fer the old man, yeh?"

"Yeah. Tell him I'm here." Poet found Rich annoying, but did his best to treat him politely – he was the son of a trusted business associate, and it just wouldn't be a good idea to estrange him.

"'Kay. Stay here fer a sec." The boy scampered into the back of the store, calling, "Pa! Pa! Yer buddy Poet's here."

A moment later, a weatherbeaten, dark-haired, heavily bearded man with an eyepatch strode up to the counter. "Poet," he said formally, peering seriously at the Thief through his one blue eye. "Been awhile."

"G'day, Scratch. Sorry about the silence. Had to head to Lighthalzen for some work." Poet reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny package, wrapped with string.

Scratch raised his eyebrows. "That's a hell of a ways away. Merchant families?"

The Thief nodded. He trusted Scratch enough to share the minor details of his missions with him – he was a decent fence and a great source of information, and he had built up a good reputation amongst the crooks and ne'er-do-wells of Prontera by never cheating his customers or selling out his allies. That, and the two of them were old friends.

The shopkeeper held a hand out to receive the parcel Poet was holding, his eye alight with professional interest. Unwrapping it, he lifted out an elegant gold ring inlaid with an imperious crest. "A ring with the seal of the Montegarde family?"

"I figured you could find a use for it." The Squad had been hired on by the Allesti family and instructed to kill a specific Montegarde. The fellow in question had apparently cheated in a duel to the death against an Allesti, but nobody among the family was able to prove it, so they shrugged their shoulders and turned to assassins to find justice. Poet had to admire that kind of thinking. He also hadn't been able to resist picking up a few potentially profitable items along the way.

Scratch was obviously confused. "What am I going to do with this?"

The Thief ran his fingers through his snowy-white hair impatiently, fixing his old partner-in-crime with a calm stare. "While we were in Lighthalzen, I did some asking around. The Valinette family wants to challenge the Allesti monopoly on the textiles market, but they don't have the money to go up against a giant like that. Now, you know a few importers..."

The shopkeeper shook his head in amazement. "So I could sell the ring to a Valinette, who could plant it on an Allesti and then arrange its discovery, setting off a vendetta between the Montegardes and the Allestis that would weaken both families and leave room for the Valinettes to move in. Odin's beard, Poet, you've got the mind of a merchant prince."

Poet shrugged. "It's the backstabbing and lies that I like. The numbers and haggling are just boring to me."

Scratch laughed heartily, slapping the counter with one calloused hand. "Can't argue with that. Well, let's see; the ring itself would fetch a decent price, but given the circumstances it's come to me under, I can see how it would be worth a fair bit more. Now, exports to Lighthalzen are usually searched, but I think I know a guy with enough influence to bring it in... problem is, he's a real greedy bastard, and he'll try to gouge me for everything he can get. So, even if I accept a narrow profit margin, I'll still..."

* * *

Five minutes of negotiation and half an hour of chatting later, Poet emerged from the pawn shop with a satisfying weight in his moneypurse. He hummed as he strolled past the sulking mugger on his way back, the street rat's frustration further improving the Thief's mood. By the time he had reached the inn, he almost felt cheerful, although his face remained as dour and inscrutable as ever.

As he strode into the pub that took up the bottom floor of the building, the Thief spotted a familiar tall, lean figure sitting at a table in the corner. He approvingly noted that Mordekai had chosen his seat so that he could watch all of the entrances, then saw, to his frustration, that the Swordman was swaying drunkenly in place. Poet frowned as he sat down with his fellow assassin.

"Oh hey," slurred Mordekai, "Iss Pote. Potent. Poet." He raised his mug cheerily, then, after a moment of intense concentration, carefully guided it to his mouth.

"What did you do, head straight to the bar the instant you got into town?" Poet growled. Then, a thought occurred to him. "Wait, I thought Sandle took all your money."

"Did." The Swordman belched. "Fellas down at the warehouses 'll hire anybody. 'Sides, what'm I s'posed to do when," another belch, "urf, while Sandle's sellin' stuff? He'll be out there for... really late." He slowly began to sag forward, his long black hair coming perilously close to dipping into his mug, before he suddenly straightened up again.

"That's fascinating, I don't care," replied Poet, who wasn't paying attention. " Just don't give yourself a hangover, because I'm not waking you up if we have to leave for a job tomorrow morning."

Mordekai blinked for a few moments, as though trying to clear his vision. "Last job we did was a bad one."

The Thief furrowed his brow, puzzled. "What? How?"

"Too many fam'lies. Too many, uh... grudges. They were all mad at each other and now they're gonna be all mad at us."

"Shut up," hissed Poet. "We don't talk about work in public, remember?"

The Swordman paused, then staggered to his feet. "Err, yeah. My mist... my must... take. I got a room, so we should talk there." He rubbed his eyes with his palms.

"Sure, fine," said the pilferer hurriedly, climbing to his feet as well. He wasn't interested in carrying on a conversation with his intoxicated teammate, but he was even less excited by the idea of having their cover blown.

After a short but perilous journey up the stairs, Mordekai reached the safety of his room, with Poet following behind. As the door closed behind them, the Thief turned to face his taller counterpart, furious. "Idiot! Are you trying to get us tossed into prison?"

The warrior just shook his head, confused. "No, I just think the Monte... Munt... Mountie Guys would be super pissed if they found out we killed them."

"Yes," replied a seething Poet, "which is why we don't let anybody find out that we're assassins. We have enough trouble keeping everything under wraps without some moron blabbing it in front of half of Prontera!"

"Hey, come on." Mordekai held up his hands in an unsteady placating gesture. "'m sorry, okay? Not used to all this secret stuff."

"Yes, I know. You used to live on the plains with your tribe," Poet shot back nastily. "A big happy family on the plains, with no laws or society to worry about."

The Swordman slowly lowered his hands to his sides, staring silently at his furious companion.

Heedless, the footpad continued to rant on. "Everywhere we go, it's 'why do you make things so complicated?' and 'city folk are always in such a hurry' and 'you'd never see that happen in one of the tribes.' Did your big mouth get you kicked out, or did your tribe just leave you behind so that they wouldn't have to deal with your bleeding heart anymore?" He faltered as he realized that the object of his tirade wasn't trying to speak anymore.

Mordekai was ashen, his face poised on the agonizing brink between dispassionate calm and horrified fury. "Get out."

Poet hesitated uncertainly, realizing that he had struck a nerve. Normally he would have continued to needle his unfortunate victim, but the reaction he was getting was frighteningly different from the frank, blithe honesty that Mordekai usually exhibited. "Uh... look, just-"

The Swordman pointed at the door, his eyes unwaveringly locked with Poet's. "I said get out," he whispered.

The Thief weighed his options for the briefest of moments, then decided that discretion was the better part of valour. He backed out of the room wordlessly, closing the door behind him, and returned to the bar, where he spent the next hour nursng a beer and trying to decide whether he had been imagining the tears in his comrade's eyes.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Alright, it's been forever since we last updated. Forever. But it won't be again, this I can promise you. This chapter is a bit slower than the first two, and as you can see, there's a bit of a serious front approaching--we've actually got a pretty neat plot mapped out. For those of you wanting more interaction between Poet and Mordekai, it's coming, but you'll have to wait a bit for that, too. 


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